"It Spoke My Name"

The year was 1963. I remember not only the year, but THE day.

My mother worked part-time at different jobs during our young years to help Daddy provide us a living. Mama was a creative soul - especially for doing things like sewing, gardening, and flower arranging. One of the florists she worked for, Otwell's, had moved from its original location on Bankhead Highway in Grove Park, to a strip shopping center on the corner of Cooper Lake Road and South Cobb Drive in Smyrna. Georgia.

It was the summer and school was out. I was eight years old - going on nine. Mama did not like to leave my sister and me with baby-sitters, so we would go with her to the workplace. We would sit around, watch TV if there was one to watch, and try to busy ourselves with other things - while Mama pulled her shift.

On this particular day, I had gone out into the parking lot of the strip center several times. Just something about a boy, the hot summer, and the "out-of-doors." On one of these trips outside, I spotted some boys across South Cobb Drive at a house. There was a huge oak tree in front of the house, from whose mighty branches there hung a swing. I could see one of the boys sitting on the swing, and the other ones crowded around him. Even from across the road it was obvious that they were intently focused on him and the "something" he was holding in his lap.

Curiosity overcame me.

Ignoring my mother's stern and unmistakable warnings of, "George David, don't you D-A-R-E go across that road," across the road I went.

As I neared the swing, the most beautiful, mesmerizing, heavenly, and powerful sound I had ever heard came into my ears. It was the sound on an acoustic guitar. As I walked up into the circle of boys, I remember seeing the boy on the swing playing the guitar. I even remember the first chord I saw him make as I walked up - an A-7th. I don't remember the song he was playing, but I shall remember that A-7th until I breathe my last.

I stood there for the longest time. Listening. Watching. Drinking in each tone, each chord change, and each movement of his hands. The guitar could not have been an expensive one. But, it might as well have been Gabriel's harp. I was thoroughly hooked.

This innocently impromptu event became THE most defining moment and experience of my life. The only other things that come close were/are my baptism into Christ in August of 1967, my wedding day in 1979, and the days that my children were born in 1982 and 1984 respectively. It was as if the Good Lord himself led me across that road and introduced me to the reason for the rest of my life.

I walked back across South Cobb Drive in a deep trance. I KNEW that I had to have a guitar. I didn't know how much they cost, or where they were sold, or what someone had to do to get one. I just KNEW that one of these magically powerful instruments had to find its way into my hands.

It was several months before I was able to badger my parents into buying my first guitar. When they finally did, it came in the form of a second-hand guitar and amp owned by our neighbor, Mr. Calvin Hughes. I do not remember the brand of the amplifier, but the guitar was an, "Old Craftsman." It was a single pick-up, single cut-away model, that was made from a blonde variety of wood - with a maple neck. It sounded like a Gibson Les-Paul.

Luckily, the amp was not powerful enough to get my parents thrown into jail for disturbing the peace, but it WAS loud enough for me to have the sensation of what electricity felt like humming through those glorious Black Diamond strings. And, it was also loud enough for me to drown out the sound of my mother's desperate pleas..."George David, turn that racket down!"

My first guitar was my also first love. And, the joy, the thrill, and the utter, karma-like, fulfillment that the guitar has brought me through the years has never waned.

To this very hour, each time I pick up one of my guitars I remember that fateful day in 1963.

The day my life changed forever.